My Twisted Christmas Holiday

Every Christmas, as part of our family's tradition, we would always exchange handwritten letters and presents from each family member.

We would sit by the fireplace and cluster each other into a circle, enunciate spontaneous words, or sentences we have kept away from each other's cognizance - whether it's a heartfelt message, expressing one's gratitude, or simply showcasing each other's ability to play metaphors and similes. And oh, the best one, the anecdotes.

There were letters also that revealed each other's sullen secrets. We were also open about uttering tirades, for we reckoned that despite the fondness that binds us, we held grudges and stabbed each other's backs with our own bloody hands. It couldn't be denied. We always notice each others faults and imperfections as if we were different people.

As they gradually unveiled their received letters, I was just sitting on our couch and examined every nonverbal response they would execute. How different emotions exuded from their eyes creating watery steams, you could literally envisage their miens. Everything was sincere and beautiful. I am greatly touched by my family's gestures.

I could already hear someone cackle about the letter she was reading. And there were these two cousins of mine who were nestled fervently in each other's arms, muttering their sincere apologies. This is my favorite part every Christmas, forgiving each other. Without hypocrisy, even just for once in a year, we were all given a time to repent for the mistakes and unleading actions that made other people hurt.

I was smiling as I was enjoying the gratifying sceneries of genuineness - everything was complete euphoria. I was about to wipe the teardrops off their eyes when the ambiance around us was vanishing in a slow-paced motion.

And they were standing there, out on a cold winter day, hearing one family member spoke of how they remembered my death on the 25th day of December. That caught me totally flustered like my knees were trembling and forcing me to kneel because of such overwhelming desolation. I could still feel I'm living with them, celebrating the same Christmas. I can feel the warmth of their embrace.

I couldn't help but weep as I was watching them moan about me. The moments I used to watch every Christmas weren't moments anymore, but memories. Memories when I was still alive. These are the moments in my memories to live for. And those letters that I told you about, we're already all about me as their subject, laid it on my gravestone adorned with flowers and incandescent light from the candles. Those are the messages that I haven't heard for years and messages I missed.

The last thing that emitted from someone's mouth was, "You're always loved by us. Merry Christmas." I never imagined that the word Christmas could sound like the total opposite of it - melancholic.

Thank you everyone 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇